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f1byjessie · 3 months

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SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso imagine #fa14 #lance stroll

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rafeandonlyrafe · 7 months

Text

fruit stand

words: 1.2k

warnings: none, just very cute rafey <3

“rafe.”

“what is it rose?” he asks, looking up from his phone.

“i need you to pick up some fruit at the stand down the street. i need two watermelons.”

rafe rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to tell her to do it herself. there is some big dinner party tonight, and ward and rose have been overly stressed about it to the point it’s driving him crazy.

“alright, i’ll go now.” rafe stands up with a stretch, considering bringing wheezie long for a moment, but when he peeks in her room, he sees her nose deep in a book and decides to leave her alone.

rafe shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks down the street. he’s seen it briefly when driving by, the small fruit stand positioned on the corner of his block. he would think that the other people in the community wouldn’t want someone selling there, but he guesses that having easy access to fresh fruit makes up for it.

“hello there!” your voice brings rafe out of his thoughts.

he can’t speak. you’re like a ray of sunlight, bright smile on your face, dressed in a warm yellow sundress and sandals, hair down and slightly curly. you look effortlessly beautiful, and rafe has never felt this way just looking at a woman before.

“what can i get for you today?” you ask, gesturing to the fruit in front of you.

“i-” rafe clears his throat. “just two watermelons.”

“great! we have two sizes, i’m guessing the bigger one because you want two?”

rafe has no idea what rose wants, but he nods quickly anyways. “yeah.”

“alright, great! that’ll be $16. if you have cash, you can drop it in that box, we don’t take card but i have venmo, cashapp, and paypal on that sign.”

rafe quickly scans the sign in his venmo app, sending you the money. you don’t even check that it’s gone through before you’re handing him the watermelon, each now netted in a red mesh to make it easier for him to carry.

“oh gosh, that’s heavy carrying both. do you want to use my cart to take it back home? you can drop it back off any time before 6 today.”

“no, i got it.” rafe doesn’t want you thinking he’s weak as he carries one watermelon in each hand, hoping that the workout he did earlier today means his muscles are on display.

“alright!” you say, flashing him another smile that makes his knees buckle. “have a great day!” “you-you too.” rafe walks away, replaying the entire interaction in his head and cursing himself. he’s never had a problem talking to women before, even ones he finds attractive like you.

he spends the rest of the evening, all throughout the dinner party thinking of you, and he swears the watermelon tastes sweeter than normal.

“hello again!” you smile at rafe, recognizing the handsome man who visited your fruit stand only a couple of days ago.

“hi.” rafe smiles back, eyes quickly flipping from your face to the fruit in front of you.

“what can i get you this time…” you trail off, hoping he will provide you with his name.

“rafe.”

you smile. you’ve never heard the name before, but it fits him perfectly. “rafe.”

“just some strawberries.” rafe picks up the box. he doesn’t even particularly like strawberries, but he would use any excuse to come back to see you again. he hopes it’s not creepy, that you just see him as a returning customer, not one with an embarrassing crush on you.

“great! that’ll be $4.”

rafe thought ahead and brought cash this time, stuffing a $10 bill into the cardboard box.

“do you want change?” you ask upon seeing that he paid double the price.

“no, it’s a tip.” rafe smiles, hoping it comes off as genuine. he easily forgets how much smaller amounts of money means to people who aren’t as fortunate as him.

“well thank you, rafe.” you say, “i’m y/n, by the way.” you reach across and shake his hand. rafe swears he feels a slight zap at your first time touching each other.

“i’m going to go pick up some lemons.” wheezie says as she walks through the living room.

“wait!” rafe says. “at the fruit stand down the street?”

“yeah.” wheezie rolls her eyes like it’s obvious.

“i’ll come with you.” rafe says, getting up and smoothing out any wrinkles on his shirt.

wheezie gives him a weird look. “why? i’m 13, i don’t need you to babysit me.”

“shut up, let’s go.” rafe says, butterflies building in his stomach at the thought of seeing you again. he tried his best to find you on instagram, but with no last name, he had no luck.

wheezie rolls her eyes but lets rafe walk with her.

“hey rafe!” your voice has him seeing stars, giving you a little wave.

“this is my little sister, wheezie.” he introduces her.

“hello there, wheezie! what can i get you?” you ask as she scans the fruit, smiling when she lands on the yellow citrus. “just some lemons!”

“making lemonade?” you guess, and wheezie nods as she inspects the fruit.

“hold on, i’ve got some bigger ones down here.” you kneel down under the fruit stand, searching for the lemons that you were saving, looking too good to just put out.

wheezie looks up to rafe with a smirk. “that’s why you wanted to come” at least she whispers it.

“shut up.” rafe whispers out as you pop back up, holding a bag of lemons. “perfect!” wheezie says, reaching across to take it. wheezie goes to get money out of her pocket but rafe stops her, not wanting you to think that he wouldn’t pay for his little sister. he quickly scans the sign and transfers you the money.

“thanks so much wheezie!” you say with a smile, before looking at rafe, and he swears a faint blush comes over your cheeks and your voice drops an octave as you say “thank you rafe.”

rafe heads back to the fruit stand around 6pm, hoping that was your closing time. he sees you starting to load up fruit into the back of a pick up truck for the night, and he hurries his step up.

“let me help you.” rafe says, and you startle at his unexpected appearance.

“oh, god, rafe, you scared me.” you press a hand to your chest.

“sorry.” rafe laughs gently, you’re surprised face was just as adorable as every other face he’s seen you make. “you can hand me that crate.” you say, and quickly fall into an easy rhythm, rafe handing things up to you while you stand in the truck bed, organizing them to get everything to fit. it halves the time it usually takes you to clean up.

“all done!” you say, accepting rafe’s hand down. you take the last couple things, like your open sign and money box, and throw them in the passenger seat.

“hey- um…” you come to stand back in front of rafe as he struggles to get his words out. “i was wondering if you wanted to go grab dinner? with me?”

you’re only slightly surprised by his question, rafe hasn’t exactly been hiding his attraction to you. “yeah, yes.” you nod. “that sounds great.”

rafe smiles and lets out a breath of relief.

#reupload!#rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe fluff #obx fluff #outer banks fluff #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot

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thedroneranger · 1 year

Text

Say My Name

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Précis: You and your crew enjoy playing games with the aviators at the local navy bar. You may have finally met your match...

Note: Stumbled across a meme that inspired this one. Hoping you think it’s as fun and light as I do—enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 3.0k

It was innocent enough. Meet someone, introduce yourself with a fake name and see where the night takes you.

The game was even more fun as a civilian in a Navy bar bursting with aviators. They had no shame introducing themselves with their call signs, taking you home and never speaking to you again. Why should I?

I have to admit: It was a lot of fun. Made things feel low stakes. The hookups were a mixed bag, but that was part of the fun.

The following week, you reconvened at the bar to brag about your time between the sheets or, at the very least, share a funny bit you gleaned as compensation.

Since the bar was about as transient as the LAX airport, it was rare to run into someone twice. Plus, by now, we knew the Regulars—Regs for short. They, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered to remember us.

An in-game challenge we liked to issue each other was running into Regs and seeing if they remembered us. You lose, you buy a round. You win, your drinks are everyone else’s problem for the rest of the night.

This week was no exception. Skye, real name, had saved seats at the bar for Jane, real name, and I. Perfectly timed, the bartender delivered our drinks as we sat.

Upholding our tradition, Skye arrived first, so she shared her conquest first. She had caught the eye of a tall, sun-kissed pilot, call sign Rooster, that lived up to the implied innuendo. For the first time, Skye wanted, no needed, a Reg! Our resident one-hit wonder, she refused to touch the same pawn twice.

Meanwhile, Jane went home with a handsome guy, call sign Harvard. The three of us chuckled as she proceeded to rant about how he must’ve been a nepo baby to get into the country's most elite university. That, or all the jet fuel really killed quite a few brain cells. Thank goodness the head between his legs required only blood flow—it did not disappoint. However, she would rather watch paint dry than have to attempt to hold a conversation with him again.

Now my turn, the pair looked at me expectantly. Both saw me leave with a suave blond pilot, call sign Hangman.

Hangman was one of the smoother pilots I’d met. He stumbled upon me alone, sitting at the bar, Skye and Jane elsewhere toying with their catches.

“This seat taken?” He had a faint southern drawl.

“All yours,” I responded. The bartender arrived with my drink, and Hangman wordlessly ordered his own.

We looked at each other. His eyes were a stunning jade, and his smile was absolutely lethal.

Thankfully, I’d been told time and time again my grin was just as fatal. I let myself pretend that was the reason he was looking. Throughout the night, his gaze would drop to my mouth often. Occasionally, it would drift down my neck and sometimes lower.

His beer arrived and we continued to banter. Finally, an opportunity arose to exchange names. “Hangman,” he said, tipping his beer bottle toward me.

“Alex,” I lied as I touched the edge of my drink to his. “Friends call me Lex.” I winked as I sipped my beverage.

Part of the fun was how long you could keep their attention or how often they got distracted by an easier target. I had to hand it to Hangman, I did not peg him as a blinders-on kind of guy, but he was.

As the night wore on, we sat closer and closer. Surprisingly, I had not noticed when he hooked his foot on my barstool and was subtly inching me toward him.

My elbow was resting on the bar, our bodies turned mostly toward each other. Hangman had just delivered a punchline to an actually funny joke that made me genuinely laugh.

“You know,” I looked at him through my lashes, “your accent gets thicker with every beer.”

His megawatt smile appeared. “The drawl is how I draw ya in.” He winked and knocked my knee with his.

Damn, he was charming.

If I hadn’t been sitting at the bar with him for the last couple hours, I’d find it hard to believe this funny, affable human was the same cocky asshole shit-talking his friends and sharking their cash in darts earlier in the evening.

Last call crept up on us. We stayed in our seats as we closed our tabs—a true gentleman, Hangman insisted he pick up my drinks.

“Nightcap at my place?” He offered as he finished his signature with a gallows stick figure. A chuckle escaped me as I nodded in response. “What?” he inquired, cocking his head a little.

My eyes still on the receipt, I subtly gestured my chin in the same direction. “You’re really into your call sign.” He smirked, his deep dimples making an appearance as we vacated our seats.

“Only here,” he responded. “Makes the bartenders smile—I like to leave this place in good humor.” His hand slipped to the small of my back as we walked out.

He insisted he drive my car to his place, so I could leave at my leisure. He’d get his from the bar in the morning.

“I’m surprised you live here.” I initiated conversation as he drove. I watched a smile tug his features.

“Well, I wasn’t completely honest.” He stole a quick glance at me before putting his eyes back on the road. “I’m staying at a buddy’s house. He’s out of town while I’m in town, so he lent me his place. Allows me to avoid the barracks, and I return the favor when he’s in my neck of the woods.” He paused. “Have you ever been?”

It was the politest way I’d ever been asked if I were a tag chaser. “To the barracks? I have not had pleasure,” I responded. Sarcasm coloring my tone.

“You’re not missing anything,” he quipped with a wink. I smiled mostly to myself. The rest of the ride was silent between us but not awkward. The radio was our soundtrack until he cut the engine in the driveway of a quaint little bungalow.

As I exited, Hangman came around to shut the door and take my hand. We walked to the house, and once inside he left me to my own devices while he snagged some beers from the fridge.

Hangman handed me a longneck as we settled into the couch, me tucked into his side. After some small talk, our beers almost empty, he was leaning toward me. His eyes locked on my lips. “You know,” I said as he continued to close the gap between us. “You’re much more of a gentleman that I was expecting.”

His signature smirk appeared. “There’s still time for me to not be a gentleman.” He pressed his lips to mine. Eagerly, I forced him back so I could climb into his lap. One palm rested on his chest, while the other tugged his locks.

He groaned as I rolled my pelvis into his and roughly pulled on his lower lip. Playfully, I sat back, biting my own lip and batting my lashes. Hangman’s hands settled into the back pockets of my jeans and kneaded my backside. “Something tells me you're trouble.”

Our smirks mirrored one another. “Aren’t you lucky, you get to find out firsthand.” I leaned in for one more kiss, before slipping off his lap. Zero hesitation, he popped up, grabbed my hand and led me to his room.

We barely crossed the threshold, and Hangman was peeling his shirt over his head. I mimicked his action, and we slipped our pants off at the same time. He watched as I slowly stood to my full height. His eyes wandered the length of my legs and then studied the tiny swathe of fabric covering my apex.

As he looked, I turned so his eyes followed the curve of my thighs to my buttocks and then up my back. I was looking over my shoulder at him as he realized my bra was dangling from my index finger. My smile widened as the garment hit the floor, and then I sashayed to the bed.

He watched me sink onto the mattress. Knees wide, I let my legs dangle over the side and leaned back on one palm. The other was busy kneading my nipples to taut peaks.

Even in the dim light of the room, I could see his pupils were completely blown. He sauntered over and stood between my knees. Tilting my head up, I met his gaze. Staring down at me, he tangled a hand in my hair. My eyes fluttered closed, waiting for his next command.

Instead, he untangled his hand from my trusses. Eyes open with curiosity, I kept his gaze as he sank to his knees, resting his palms on the tops of my thighs. We never broke eye contact as he kissed each of my kneecaps.

My breath hitched as his calloused fingers ghosted up my legs and curled around the sides of my panties. Almost involuntarily, my hips lifted so he could slip the garment down. Hangman took his time sliding them off, letting his fingers trail the entire length of my legs. Settling himself, he looped one of my legs over each shoulder. The position forced me to lie further back and prop myself on my elbows.

I chewed my lip as he nosed and kissed along my inner thighs. His smirk appeared as he got closer to where I really wanted him. “As a gentleman, I’ll make you come first.” A wet, hot kiss punctuated his statement.

Before I could retort, he spread me with his fingers and suctioned his lips around my bundle of nerves. If it weren’t for his hand anchoring my hip, my entire body would've come off the bed. “Oh, fuck!” I nearly shouted as his fingers slipped down to my soaking hole.

He pulled away, tugging my clit before letting it go, to watch his thick fingers languidly sink into me. Every come-hither motion had me seeing stars and the band in my lower stomach pulling tighter. Coupled with him lapping my core, I was nearly over the edge. The final push was a string of phrases, including ‘just like that’ and ‘good girl’ leaving his mouth.

I sat up and squeezed my eyes shut as my orgasm rippled through me. Hangman slipped from beneath my legs and settled beside me on the bed, ushering me to lay back down. Prolonging my peak, he scissored his fingers and enjoyed my walls tightening around his digits.

Finally through my high, Hangman removed his fingers. That disappointingly empty feeling washing over me, I opened my eyes to see him cleaning my arousal from his hand. “You’re sweet,” he said as he pulled his fingers out of his mouth with a pop and looked down at me.

My hand went to the back of his head to pull him down for a kiss. Sloppily, I licked his mouth and sucked his lips to taste myself. We broke apart. “Mhmmm, needed to confirm,” I explained. His smile appeared as he pushed his lips back to mine.

Hangman growled as I sank my teeth into his bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, he slipped off the bed to grab a condom, rolling it on as he came back. He grabbed my ankle to position me at the edge of the bed so his length was resting against my throbbing apex.

The backs of my thighs rested against the front of his. He still had a hold on my ankle, while my other leg hooked around his hip. I watched as Hangman laid my leg against his chest. Then he toured the length of it until his hand came to rest on my hip.

We kept eye contact as he leaned forward. “It’s my turn.” His hand slipped between us to guide his length into me. A hissed deflated my lungs as he seated himself. Girthier than his fingers, he gave me a few seconds to adjust.

Every couple of thrusts, his pace increased. Now verging on brutal, he hooked my legs around his arms as he planted his palms on the bed for more leverage. I couldn’t help the moans that escaped my lips as he relentlessly drove into me.

“Taking me so well,” he complimented. “That’s a good girl, Lex.”

Lex?

Who the fuck was Lex?!

My body reacted before my mind, and my open palm connected with his cheekbone. Hangman’s hips stuttered, but only for a moment. “What was that for?” he asked between thrusts.

Fuck.

I’m Lex.

I forgot…

Fortunately, Hangman seemed none the wiser. “I need to know so I can do it again,” he clarified, smirking.

“Shut up,” I ignored his question. “Put your hand around my neck.”

“Choke you?” he rephrased.

Whining, I clawed at his wrist. “Yes, please!”

He obliged, placing his palm over the column of my throat. His thumb, fore and middle fingers applied pressure to the sides of my neck. A hum buzzed up my throat and my bottom lip disappeared between my teeth as he applied pressure.

The only sounds in the room were both of us panting and skin against skin. His hand had since left my neck and was cradling my head, fingers curled in my hair, while the other was planted beside me on the bed.

One of my hands reached between us to draw tight circles on my engorged nerves. Occasionally, I’d slip my fingers into a V around his base. “Yes, keep your hand there,” he instructed. I obeyed, squeezing rhythmically. A drawn out ‘fuck’ left his lips as his hips stuttered while he came.

Hangman buried his face in the crook of my neck, but kept his pace to encourage my second orgasm. His hand replaced mine between us. The calluses of his thumb added just enough sensation to push me into my next pleasure wave. “Fuck, I love when you squeeze me.” His pace slowed at the same rate as my aftershocks.

Hangman uncurled himself from me, and I whined at the loss of heat and sat up. He threw me his discarded t-shirt before wandering to the bathroom. A minute or two later, he came back with a warm washcloth and, kneeling in front of me, gently cleaned me up.

Offering his hand, he pulled me to standing. Then, before returning to the ensuite bathroom, he turned down the blankets and motioned for me to climb in.

Jokingly poking a finger to my chest, I looked over my shoulder and then back at him. “You want me to stay?”

His signature smirk reappeared as he walked over to me, standing close enough I had to look up at him. “Can I tell you a secret?” I nodded, waiting. He bent down so his lips met my ear. “I’m a cuddler.” He whispered, and then placed a chaste kiss at the top of my jaw, before dipping past me to the bathroom.

By the time Hangman came back, I was nestled into his bed, postcoital sleepiness settling in. He draped himself over me, wrapping an arm around my waist and slipping his leg between mine. The last thing I remembered was him pressing kisses to the back of my neck.

A few hours later, I stirred to find myself tucked into Hangman’s side, him on his back. My head and hand on his chest, and my leg looped over his. His arm was slack in the valley between my hip and ribs.

I wanted to stay there with Hangman. Kiss him awake and then convince him to go to breakfast, but that wasn’t part of the game.

Begrudgingly, I slipped from his grasp. However, I had decided I was keeping his t-shirt. Collecting my clothing, I slipped on some pants. Then, I crept over to the bathroom to make sure I was somewhat presentable. Gathering the rest of my belongings, I hopped into my vehicle and headed home.

Keeping up the facade, I left the longing details out of my story as I wrapped it up. Jane and Skye were both ready to jump on me with a million questions.

However, instead, their attention was drawn behind me. Confused, I swiveled in my seat to find Hangman leaning against the counter, looking right at me.

“Hey, stranger.” My heart definitely skipped a beat.

His gorgeous grin appeared as he stood to his full height and leaned closer to me. “Hey, stranger,” he repeated. “Left without a trace on Saturday.”

“Is that not what you wanted?” His gaze was intense, yet I couldn’t look away.

“Not at all.” A drink arrived for him, and he winked at the bartender. “I was hoping we would go out for breakfast.” He sipped his beer. “Exchange phone numbers.” He paused again. “Real names.”

I’d been had.

He smiled at my silent confirmation.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked in a lower voice.

Hangman leaned further in to whisper into my ear. “And ruin such a hot moment?” We pulled just far enough apart to look each other in the eye. “I was sad when you weren’t there for Round 2 in the morning.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Heat filled my cheeks, as I looked at my shoes for a moment.

“Instead of you toying with another flyboy’s heart tonight, I’m going to buy your drinks and get to know you…” he trailed off. I finished his sentence with my name, which he repeated with a grin.

“I knew you weren’t a Lex.” He winked. “I’m Jake, by the way.”

“Hi, Jake. Nice to meet you.” I winked back before taking a sip of my drink.

Jake let out a hearty laugh that squinted his eyes.

Skye’s hand brushed my shoulder as she and Jane vacated the area. They both gave Jake little waves. In exchange, he relayed soft thank yous.

He pulled my stool as close to his as possible and looped his arm around the back. “Well,” he looked down at me, “now that I know your name, I want to know everything else.”

“Good thing we have all night.”

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ayanominitrash · 6 months

Text

ᵈⁱᵈⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ? Gojo x reader

♡

“What is this? ”

You hold up the thin silver ring Gojo-sama tossed into your hand. It shines as you twist and turn it to inspect the minimalist lines engraved on its outer ring. It didn’t have any diamonds or stones, but it was still pretty.

The two of you stand in the hallways of Jujutsu High Tokyo Branch, just near the training grounds. It was a quiet trip to the fields to check on the other students up until this point. You raise an eyebrow in question at the tall man with the white bandages for a blindfold, but he only gives you a small smile. With that, you decide to ask him again.

“Did you steal this on one of your missions or something? ”

With that, his faint smile disappears into a disappointed frown. He puts his hands in his pocket. “Who do you think I am? Of course I bought that for you.”

You shoot him a scandalized look while gripping the ring in your fist. ”What the hell is this for? ”

You are genuinely confused at his sudden gift—or whatever this is—that you couldn’t give yourself time to blush at the implication the ring brought. The two of you have known each other since high school, with him being a year above you, but you only interacted with him after he graduated first, when the two of you would go on occasional missions together.

You’d think you’d consider yourselves acquaintances.

“I’ve been thinking." He finally speaks, breaking your thought process. “Even though I am the strongest sorcerer, it’s generally known that sorcerers don’t live that long. Whether it’s from a battle or just natural causes, who knows why? But that’s just how it has been. So, I’m thinking… With the little time I’d have left, I’d like to marry you soon.”

You sputter and stagger back a bit. You can feel your whole face burn bright red. "What are you talking about? Is this one of your insufferable jokes? It’s not funny.”

“I’m serious.”

The tone in his voice sounds final, and he doesn’t have a smile on his face. You try hard to read his expression despite his blindfold—to see if there are any giveaway signs he’d start laughing or make fun of you after a few seconds.

There weren't any.

Realizing this, you try to fix your composure and open your palm to look at the ring. "So, are you asking what I think you’re asking?"

“Consider this more of a promise.” He leans his back against the wooden walls of the hallway, the sun's rays bathing him in radiant light. “Hang on to that for me, will you? And when you’ve thought about it—about us—come to me. But don’t make me wait too long, of course.”

You’re silent, still staring at the ring. Then, “Why me? ”

“Hm?”

“Why me? We aren’t even dating, let alone ‘that close’ for you to even ask me this, to give me this.”

“I've liked you since high school; did you not know that? ”

You gape at him, blushing, “No! We barely even talked back then. I didn’t. . I wouldn’t even imagine. . .”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to accept my feelings,” Gojo-sama reaches a hand out towards you. “You can give that back to me. No hard feelings."

You look up at him, and he just has that same faint smile on his lips, waiting for you to hand the ring over to him. Damn, you wish you could see his eyes to make it easier for you to read him.

You have eyes yourself, and you’d be lying if you said that this tall man before you was unattractive. or that you hadn’t had a crush on him at some point in your life. But he seemed so far away and way out of your league that you didn’t give in to your delusions about the thought that you could date him.

So you close your hand, containing the ring, back into a fist, retracting your arm closer to your chest, shyly looking away from him.

Gojo-sama quietly chuckles and puts his hand back into his pocket. “That settles it then, y/n.”

At the sound of him saying your name, you can only blush harder. He pats the top of your head. ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

(❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡ reblogs and comments are appreciated//do not repost my work anywhere // This was supposed to be part of a series I was planning on doing but of course, I never got around writing it. Maybe I'll post a mini version.

#gojo jjk #jjk gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk fanfic #fanfic #jujustu kaisen #fluff #gojo fluff #marriage #engagement #promise ring #confession

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mellowmagnolia · 1 year

Text

Lol, just imagine Belphegor who develops a revenge kink. Revenge directed at him. Or more like degradation kink but with revenge as the main theme.

He wants MC to be brutal and unforgiving. To use him as their own personal toy. Use him as they please, when they please. Because now he will submit thanks to his guilt. He will show MC what a good boy he has become. That he is now docile and ready to do everything that's asked of him.

POV: Belphegor is eaten by guilt so much after what he's done to them that now after realizing the crush he's had on MC from their very first meeting he wants to be choked by them while they ride him.

Ahahaa I have so many scenarios in my head!

So below is some smut with AFAB/feminine reader, no/neutral pronouns + mommy kink so be warned 👋

Belphegor kept watching you from a safe distance ever since "the attic incident". You were reluctant to treat him like you did the others in fear of a reaction from him. Sure, everyone was supposed to make peace and move on, preferably forget what had happened. But both you and Belphegor knew that was easier said than done. The weeks following that chain of events, everyone seemed to be under the mutual agreement that no one will ever mention that again. Although the tension could be felt at mealtimes, or whenever you and Belphie were in the same room, no one seemed to let out a whisper of that day.

Belphegor felt like he was in a hell of his own making. He desperately wanted to get closer to you, but didn't know how. And he felt this pressure building up and not relenting in the slightest whenever another day has gone by without speaking to you. He really wanted to make amends. He wanted to explain to you how in a strange and ironic sort of way, he started liking you long before he did the unforgivable to you. Not even two encounters in, and he started feeling the tell tale sign of a crush developing.

He started to like your little talks. He started to look forward to them. Granted, there was not much to be done in the long breaks between your conversations, but that wasn't just boredom. No, he started to take notice of how your RAD uniform was hugging your figure. How your skirt rode up just slightly when you sat down so you could chill with him by the door. He loved your laugh whenever you recounted something funny that happened that day. He loved that you were genuine in wanting to help him and his family. So one would then naturally ask: what was he thinking when he strangled you if he already liked you?

Well, that's a little bit more complicated to try and explain for him. You see, he never expected you to be able to open that door. And as he was taking his usual nap, his dreams got interrupted by nightmares of the war. Then you came and interrupted those nightmares by calling his name. He was shocked to say the least. Waking up in a cold sweat, his eyes were fixed on you, and in an instant a wave of emotions came flooding. You were sweet, yes, but you were also a reminder of his cause of suffering. How could he start developing feelings for you? His head was spinning. He felt like he was betraying Lilith with his little crush. He felt like he was responsible for her death all over again.

And that was the moment he striked. Seeing red, his pulse was throbbing in his ears as his hands kept squeezing around your throat. He felt a crush, but he kept going. It's like his muscles were refusing to cooperate. His fingers kept themselves locked. And then he realized the noises you were making stopped. And that you sat there, limp, held up only by his hands. He felt his stomach drop and a cold sweat forming on his brow. Your mouth hung open and your lifeless eyes were staring at the ceiling. He couldn't process yet. He didn't want to admit he did that. Belphegor tossed your body down the stairs, where it landed with a loud thud. Footsteps came rushing in, all his brothers were coming in to see what caused the commotion.

The demon sat still, hearing little more than his own labored breath. He felt several pairs of eyes on him. It was fear and disbelief he was feeling. But he couldn't let that show. He needed to play it cool, perhaps that would help them forget about it faster. Here and there, between his own racing thoughts, he could hear his brothers addressing him. He put on his act, like he rehearsed in his head just a few seconds before, when his mind was going a mile a minute. He could hear Mammon sobbing. He had to say something. What came out of his mouth was not in accordance with his feelings. Not even a little. But he had to do this in hopes they'll forget, forget about MC and forget about the whole exchange program. For the best of all. And after a couple of minutes, which felt like an eternity of suffering and desperation, to the surprise of everyone, there you stood, alive and unharmed, next to the vanishing clone that Mammon was gripping in his arms.

Now Belphegor was at a loss on how to mend your relationship. He could start by trying to spend more time with you. Always with another brother of his nearby, though. He understood your reluctance. But he couldn't help but be a little selfish. He wanted you all to himself. He wanted to have a moment with you, one where he could pour his heart out to you and tell you how sorry he felt. But the timing was never right. And after several days of trying to control this pressure that was threatening to spill and make a mess, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

It was 1 a.m. and he chose to sleep in the attic that night, in hopes that the added peace of mind of a familiar place would lull him to sleep. That seemed to have the opposite effect. His mind refused to shut up, thoughts circling the same subject: you. With a huff, he got up and grabbed his favorite pillow. His feet seemed to lead him to your door. He chewed on his bottom lip. He knew this was not the best idea. It seemed like too much, too all of a sudden. Yet he couldn't stop his hand from reaching for your door handle and turning it.

As he half-opened the door to your bedroom, he could see the warm light of your bedside lamp contrasting with the blue light of your DDD, as you sat there, scrolling Devilgram. He cleared his throat. Your head turned abruptly in his direction, eyes widened in surprise. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He raised his left arm in a non-threatening manner and gave you a little awkward wave. You locked your DDD and sat upright.

"Belphegor? What's up?" You asked, eyebrows raised in concern. "Can't sleep?"

"Something like that..." Was his croaked out reply. Damn, he knew this was stupid. Yet he did it anyway. Typical.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that..." You continued, unsure. Frankly, you didn't know what to do in this scenario. You two have talked very little since the incident. Normally, if it were any other brother, you'd offer to keep them company, be it in your room or their own. But since this was Belphegor, you felt lost.

"Can I..." He started, hand nervously now fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Can we talk?"

That took you by surprise. You felt like this moment would eventually come, but you kept postponing the thought until later. Well, that moment came now and you felt unprepared for such a serious conversation. Yet, you gave a small smile and patted the top of your bedsheets.

"Yeah, sure. Take a seat!" Your tone sounded more cheerful than you have intended, especially given the subject of the conversation you're going to approach, and you felt like slapping yourself.

"Right." His gaze fell to the ground as he approached your bed with measured steps, carefully sitting down next to you. He only dared to take his eyes off your futon for a brief moment, to look into your eyes, and that was enough to knock the wind out of him. You looked at him with big, glossy eyes in anticipation of your talk. He took a sharp inhale in, playing with the zipper on his pillow cover.

"So", he sighed "I know I'm really bad at this, but, can we talk about what happened that day?" He held bis breath and felt his muscles tense awaiting your response.

"Sure. What about that day?" That question came out a little trembled. Shit. You had to be careful. Just the mere thought of that day made you want to cry. And you definitely didn't want to cry in front of him.

"I-I" he cleared his throat again. "I never really apologized to you. Like... properly. I'm sorry, MC. I'm sorry for the pain that I've caused you. I'm sorry for being so cruel and insensitive. I'm so ashamed of what I did a-and I don't know if I can ever make things right with you but I'd love to try!" Belphegor desperately let it all out in one breath. He felt like if you were to interrupt him, he could never manage to get it all out. He wanted to make sure you understood.

And all you did was twist your body so you could face him better. It was hard to keep your tears from spilling. But you refused to wipe your eyes unless absolutely necessary. You just looked in his eyes. And Belphie felt like breaking down in a million pieces. You looked so sad, so...betrayed by his past actions. He broke in a fit of sobs. Instinctively, your arms found their way around him. Squeezing him to your chest as you couldn't contain your tears anymore. You both sat there crying, shaking with your sobs. Belphie returned the embrace. He clung to you just like Mammon did after the incident. Oh, the irony, he thought. You were real, you were here and he was so, so sorry and so, so grateful that Barbatos found a loophole to bring you back to life so he has the chance to apologize and repent.

After a while, you both loosened your grip on each other and made eye contact. Belphegor felt so vulnerable now, still in your arms, forehead lifted from its place at your chest to meet your eyes. You felt a tenderness towards him come over you at that moment. He looked so small and fragile compared to the big bad demon who haunted your nightmares. You wiped his left cheek with your thumb and gave him a shaky smile. And he didn't know what came over him in that moment. He set his palms down by your sides and lifted his head so his lips could kiss yours. Your eyes widened in shock but soon enough you found yourself melting into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He felt emboldened, deepening the kiss. And you felt the same, bringing one hand to close around the hairs at his nape and slowly, gently, pushing him down so he could lay on his backside. You straddled his lap to break your fall and broke the kiss in the process.

"Please" he spoke, through pants "Please punish me. Take your revenge on me!" His whispers were breathless and desperate, his chest rising and falling rapidly, heartbeat in his ears as blood was violently rushing to his face.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by his request. But you were willing to oblige, albeit you didn't know how to start your "punishment".

"If that's what you wish..." you trailed off as you raised his shirt, exposing his nipples. You started kissing him again, now with more fervor, and he happily returned your kisses, letting you take control with your tongue. You started becoming aware of his growing erection as you bucked your hips into him and his breath hitched, making a small noise. You found that cute and endearing, so you kept kissing him lower and lower down his jaw, towards his neck, licking at his pulsing jugular all while keeping the friction between your bodies going. His breathing grew more and more laboured, on the verge of moaning.

It felt surreal to you. As if the roles were reversed and this time you were the predator and he was the prey. At last, your lips reached his left nipple, giving it a gentle suck and a lick. His hips spine curled and his hips bucked into you.

"Ah, yes mommy!" For a moment, everything seemed to screech to a halt. Your eyes snapped to his and all you could hear was both of your ragged breaths. He felt like dying inside. It was too early for that, he knew it, but his horny mouth seemed to have a mind of its own at this point. Instead, you smirked and started kissing lower down his belly, following his happy trail to his now tenting pants. You gently lifted the elastic and removed both the pyjama pants and his boxers in one go.

He felt so sensitive, that just being exposed to the air made his cock twitch. But he was grateful his earlier slip up didn't seem to ruin the mood. Now your wet mouth started exploring his length, beginning from a kiss to the tip and a lick to his underside. Then, carefully holding him from the base with your hand, you took him gently in your mouth. Belphie already felt like fireworks were going off behind his eyelids as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. You prepped him like this, sucking him off for a while, and when you felt satisfied, you took your mouth off him and just when the demon felt like missing the loss of your mouth, he felt you position your slick hole above him. He sat there wordless, holding his breath as you started to push him into your entrance. It felt like pure bliss. Your warm walls embraced his length and gave him a squeeze when he was up to the hilt.

"Good boy!" You praised and he felt his cock twitch again, feeling like he's ready to burst from those two words alone. Then you started moving slowly, gently lifting off his lap and moving your hips in circles when you had him fully inside. The pleasure was dizzying. He felt his hands jump to your hips and he thrust upwards. A little surprised, high pitched moan came out of your mouth. He did that again, only to ellicit the same response. Then again, until he eventually found a rhythm, making you bounce on his lap. You were too far gone to say anything anymore. His thrusts hit your spongy spot so well, that it made you wish the sex would never end.

In a sudden movement, he took a hold of you and spun you so that you were the one now lying on their back. His cock still inside you, he took the time to admire you and brush his fingers over your nipples through the soft fabric of your nightshirt, only to lift it up and latch his mouth around a breast, while the other hand was occupied with gently twisting your nipple. Your spine arched into his mouth.

"I'll make you feel so good, mommy!" It came out a little muffled since he wasn't willing to let go of your breast to speak. He started thrusting again, and you felt him so deep you could swear his tip was kissing your cervix. You could only moan and grab a hold of his horns in response, pulling at his hair in the process. Wait, when did he transform? It didn't matter now, all you could focus on was indeed how good he was making you feel.

"I'll be your obedient lapdog, mommy! I'll be your living dildo, whatever you please. So please, please forgive me!" His dirty talk made your mind reel. You never thought he'd be capable of uttering these words. Especially to you. But it made your stomach flutter at the thought of him wanting to be forgiven so bad he'd degrade himself like that. And to be frank, you were kind of digging it. Before you could give it more thought, you found yourself speaking as well.

"Yes baby, fuck mommy just like that!" That seemed to be all he needed to keep going with renewed vigor, making your walls clench as his thumb started to rub circles on your clit. You couldn't hold your orgasm much longer and Belphegor felt that in the tighening around his cock. With a sudden powerful thrust, you were sent over the edge as your hole started fluttering around his length, which is all Belphegor needed to spill inside of you as well. He let himself fall to your side, your sticky bodies locking in an embrace, the only sounds in the room being your labored breaths as you were trying to recover. Maybe Belphie's new kink was something you could work with.

__________

And that's it folks. Couldn't bring myself to make MC actually degrade him but I think I made Belphie compensate for that though. Hope you enjoyed it ;P

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me belphegor #obey me smut #obey me belphegor smut

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philosophiums · 1 month

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hooooo boy i haven't posted a fic here in a long time but @hinamie's itafushi art fully possessed me so please take this offering as my first ever jjk fic

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Night has set in like a bruise – a dark sky framed and mottled by light pollution, a memory of violence hidden behind a veneer of something almost pretty. There’s evidence of life in the distant city, but nothing close by. Megumi can hear a soft thrum of traffic and the occasional shout or laugh, but the immediate vicinity hosts only crickets and the restlessness of his companion.

Itadori is pacing at the bottom of the staircase Megumi is sitting on, and Megumi watches him closely out of the corner of his eye. It’s nothing new for Itadori to hype himself up before a fight, so Megumi isn’t worried, exactly, but there’s something abnormal in the fierceness of his movements, the rolling of his shoulders, the way his head tilts like he’s trying and failing to have a conversation in his head.

He doesn’t want to mention it. Conversations with Itadori are often marred by the reality of what the finish line looks like – they can’t both make it out alive. They both know it. Itadori likes to pretend he hasn’t grasped the reality of the situation, but Megumi understands the depth of the haunting he carries around when he thinks no one is looking. Which means that when Megumi asks after him, inquires into his wellbeing, Itadori brushes it off with a smile and a laugh. And his smile is as brilliant as the sun, so of course Megumi has to look away to protect himself.

Somewhere in the nearby bushes, several of his rabbit shikigami are maintaining a perimeter around the area, allowing him to relax while still doing everything he can to stay on high alert. Shibuya shouldn’t have turned into such a mess, and maybe it wouldn’t have if more people had been suspicious to the point of paranoia. It’s too late to fix that, too late to take away Itadori’s scars, too late to take back the suicide pact he himself signed, but he can at least look ahead to whatever future awaits them. He can do his best to keep them safe.

“Fushiguro.”

Oh no. Nothing good ever comes from Itadori’s serious voice.

Please.

If I die, you’ll kill me, right?

He blinks and finds himself looking at a stationary Itadori, hands in his pockets and eyes on the building behind Megumi. “What is it?”

“Are there really curses in there? I thought they couldn’t step foot in a church.” Itadori looks genuine when he asks, and it wouldn’t be the first foolish question out of his mouth, but the tone he used to call Megumi’s name just… doesn’t match with the question. Seriousness followed by off-handed curiosity isn’t exactly Itadori’s style. This isn’t what he had wanted to say, but something made him pivot into an unplanned conversation.

Maybe Megumi has been paying too close attention to him. Maybe Megumi should know better. It’s all doomed anyway – a heat death guaranteed to happen. There’s no point in devoting so much time trying to learn someone’s intricacies when they’re inevitably going to leave, by force or otherwise. He should save himself the heartache. He should have learned his lesson the first time Itadori died.

His arms shake with the phantom weight of Itadori’s body in his arms, limp and lifeless and bloody with that stupid soft smile still on his face even in death with a hole in his chest. His parting words still circle in Megumi’s head sometimes.

Part of him wishes that Itadori had cursed him in the end. Maybe it would have been easier.

“You’re thinking of vampires,” Megumi says. “Or demons. Curses can go anywhere.”

Itadori makes a sound like he’s not really sure he believes Megumi, which is insane because Megumi is not the one who watches movies with vampires and demons in them. At least, he hadn’t before Itadori walked into his life and demanded movie nights at the school and midnight viewings at the theater.

“A church, though?” Itadori continues, insisting. “Aren’t these supposed to be, like, full of positive energy?” He tilts his head up and to the side, and the closest streetlight reflects across his face, highlighting his jaw, catching in his eyes until they glow damn near gold.

Megumi has to look away. His chest hurts if he stares too long at everything he can’t have.

“Just because something is comforting doesn’t mean it can’t be a curse.” As soon as the words leave Megumi’s mouth, he knows he shouldn’t have said them. Even in his peripheral, almost entirely out of his view, he can see Itadori look at him with his expression opening into surprise or something worse.

Fuck. He really can’t allow himself to be so obvious, especially when they’re hours away from stepping through the barrier around the first Tokyo colony and into the Culling Game. They’re about to put their lives on the line again. Now isn’t the time to lose his composure.

Before he can catch himself, his hand is in his pocket, digging out the pack he keeps for what he considers emergencies. There’s a cigarette between his fingers in a matter of seconds, and his lighter is in his other hand a moment later.

Itadori swipes it before he can light up, and Megumi is left with wide eyes and a cigarette dangling limply between his lips as he looks up at the boy suddenly standing over him. He forgets, sometimes, just how fast Itadori is.

“Since when do you smoke?” Itadori asks, all childish curiosity, not an ounce of judgement in his tone. And yet, the stolen lighter feels like judgement – a withholding of something, well… harmful, sure, but it’s not like Megumi isn’t aware that every inhale of nicotine is an inch closer to his death. What does losing a minute or an hour or a day matter when he’s probably not going to reach the age of thirty, anyway?

“Since middle school,” Megumi replies, reaching out to attempt to quickly reclaim his lighter, but all Itadori has to do is lean his torso to the side and it’s out of reach. “Can I have that back, please?”

“Why?” Itadori hasn’t had such a soft look on his face since they dragged themselves kicking and screaming out of the warzone Shibuya turned into.

“Because there’s a cigarette in my mouth and it would be a waste not to smoke it.”

Itadori makes a face, a petulant little pout just this side of sticking his tongue out. It’s cute, and Megumi has to close his eyes for a moment. “I meant why did you start smoking in middle school?”

The sigh that leaves Megumi’s lungs is heavier than he wants it to be. He’s not… good with emotions, and he’s even worse at expressing them. It wasn’t a problem when he was all alone, with the second-years distant due to their classes, and Gojo either a nuisance better avoided or thousands of kilometers away taking care of a curse too powerful for anyone else to handle. But then Itadori, fresh off the loss of his grandfather, sacrificed himself for not only his friends but for Megumi as well. And he has refused to leave, no matter how hard Megumi tried at first to put up his barriers and protect himself.

Because the truth is that Megumi was helpless from the moment Itadori jumped through a window and crash landed on a curse. He is the very definition of someone with an unshakeable character. The fact that they’re here, now, on the backside of a slaughter, newly scarred and traumatized, and Itadori can still smile at him in a way that softens his eyes proves beyond any doubt that he is who he is and that won’t change. And it guts Megumi from the inside out because everyone who has ever touched his life has become poisoned by him.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it between his knuckles. “I don’t know. I wanted…” This time when he sighs, it’s softer, and he moves his gaze away out of embarrassment more than anything else. Itadori and Kugisaki already made fun of him for how he acted in middle school, and he doesn’t want to go through it again. “I wanted people to be afraid of me – teachers, students, upperclassmen, underclassmen, it didn’t matter. I wanted to look and be as aggressive as possible so they didn’t mess with me or Tsumiki.”

Itadori snorts, and less than a second later he’s laughing with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. For the moment, he’s unguarded, and Megumi uses the opportunity to stare. In the low amber light, he looks impossibly young, soft around the edges where his scars and personal losses have hardened him. The pink of his hair dims into the gentlest of dawns, and the happy tears that pearl in the corners of his eyes are more stunning than the thin veil of starlight overhead. In a world overflowing with curses, Megumi has never believed in angels, and yet it’s the only word he can conjure that comes even close to describing the boy in front of him.

Megumi knows he’s in love; how could he not be?

“That’s just like you,” Itadori says, breathless, and Megumi suddenly feels like he’s falling even though Itadori is the one suddenly dropping to sit on the stairs beside him.

Itadori is a morning person, even though he’s slow to wake up. He won’t drink coffee unless it’s iced. He never tucks in his shirt tags. When he’s upset, he throws himself into social situations to hide behind other people’s laughter. He carries snacks in his pockets and will offer them to everyone. These are all details that Megumi has collected about Itadori, stashing them away like a crow with shiny objects, hoarding them as the treasures that they are and that he can never truly have.

He had never once considered that Itadori has been observing him just as studiously in return.

Their knees bump, and Megumi knows he should pull away, but he can’t bring himself to. The night isn’t cold, but Itadori’s warmth is a comfort, anyway. Megumi hasn’t had many comforts in his life.

“Give me my lighter back,” he says instead of acknowledging anything else. His chest hurts. His heart is too loud in his ears. Itadori is right there, lips twisted by his scar, eyes flashing with the humor that’s still rolling through him, shaking his shoulders as he looks back at Megumi.

Instead of answering or acquiescing, Itadori leans forward until their shoulders press together, blocking out the ghost of a breeze flowing in from behind them, and rolls his thumb over the spark wheel until a flame catches. His hand and Megumi’s both come up at the same time to cup around the other side, protecting the small flame from the elements, and it’s tender and intimate when Megumi’s fingers brush against the curve of Itadori’s palm.

He pretends not to notice as he puts the cigarette back between his lips and ducks his head. The first drag to catch the paper and tobacco on fire takes a while, and he is so incredibly aware of how close Itadori is, of the protective shell they’ve made with their bodies as they keep this flame going between them. He can’t think about it, can’t acknowledge it, can’t –

As soon as he sees embers, he sits up and leans away, creating a small pocket of space for him to exhale into. But the flame stays lit, Itadori’s thumb still pressed into the fork to keep the gas flowing out.

Megumi smacks his arm without looking at him directly. “You’re wasting the butane.”

Without protest this time, Itadori listens, and the flame dies with a soft click as the fork snaps back into place.

The stillness of the night around them settles again, crickets becoming the dominating sound over the gentle rattling of leaves and the far distant honking of a car horn. The tobacco sizzles as the fire slowly eats through it every time Megumi takes a drag.

Itadori’s unwavering gaze on him feels like a physical weight. There’s a tender smile there, Megumi just knows it, but god damn it he won’t look. This can’t be a this. There’s nothing here but a road that dead ends on a bottomless cliff. No one has forever, despite claiming that they will, but he and Itadori don’t even have years. They could die tomorrow, the moment they step through that barrier. Fuck, the curses in the church behind them could come out and catch them off guard right now, and no one would know where to look for their bodies.

So it doesn’t matter that Itadori sometimes looks at Megumi like he hung the moon. It doesn’t matter that Megumi understands the plight of Icarus when he sees Itadori smile. He is not going to create a situation that is doomed to end early. He is not going to push his feelings into the world just for the universe to stomp them into the dirt. He is not going to let himself muddy the lines on a friendship that is already too good to be true.

He takes a drag in that’s harsher and longer than the last, fast enough that his lips burn from the fire racing too fast through the cigarette towards the filter. He lets it hurt, tells himself he deserves it, and exhales the smoke slowly with his eyes closed.

For a moment, he just sits there, his arm draped across his knee, which is still pressed into Itadori’s knee, and tries to pretend that everything is fine. It’s normal. It’s just a crush. It’ll go away. He would rather die with longing in his heart than risk living long enough to experience a loss that will crush him.

When he brings his hand back up to take another drag, fingers on his wrist stop him in his tracks.

“Fushiguro.”

“Itadori?” He turns his head and opens his eyes in the same movement, wondering if there’s a problem, if all the actions he took to be obsessively vigilant were for naught, if somehow something got the drop on them. “What –”

The press of Itadori’s lips against his own shuts him up fast and leaves his mind spinning and his lungs devoid of air.

What?

Why…?

Itadori makes a noise at the back of his throat – soft, questioning, encouraging – and Megumi forgets every reason he has ever had on why this is a bad idea.

He kisses back.

It’s not a desperate kiss. There isn’t a sudden light switch that flips on and turns them into feral horny teenagers crawling all over each other, desperate to touch in as many places as possible as fast as they can. Three points of contact is all they started with and all they still have. Their knees, digging into each other in a way that almost hurts, but the warmth is so strong that it doesn’t matter. Itadori’s fingertips oh, so gently resting against Megumi’s wrist, not even touching skin. And the tentative slide of their lips as Megumi tilts his head and Itadori seems to crack a smile.

Itadori’s lips are chapped, and Megumi can feel the texture of scar tissue as they blindly search for an angle that feels better than the others. It probably wasn’t meant to be a long kiss when Itadori first leaned in, but Megumi can’t bring himself to pull away even though there’s absolutely nothing physically holding him here. The instinct to jerk back with his hackles up is there, just under his skin, but every exhale of Itadori’s sounds like a blissed-out sigh as it shivers across Megumi’s cheeks, and he finds himself more and more willing to just have this.

Itadori is the one to break the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against Megumi’s and just breathing into his space. Megumi feels like he just ran five kilometers; it’s impossible to suck enough oxygen into his lungs to stop feeling lightheaded. His cigarette is still between his fingers, slowly burning itself down to the filter, but Megumi has completely forgotten about it.

“What was that for?” Megumi whispers, eyes flicking back and forth looking for clues in the depths of Itadori’s eyes. It’s an accusation, yes. They could have kept pretending. The pain at the end of this is going to be unimaginable. But it’s also a desperate plea.

Don’t pretend it didn’t happen. Don’t apologize. Don’t say you didn’t mean to.

“I don’t know,” Itadori admits, and that crooked smile is back, perching on his mouth in a way that tempts Megumi to kiss it away. “Good luck? Felt like the right time.”

Megumi drops the cigarette by his foot and moves his hand to Itadori’s face, cupping his cheek and the curve of his jaw. He can feel himself shaking with adrenaline and the fear of an unknown dark path laid out in front of them. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but even he can hear the fondness in his voice.

“Mhm, yeah, you’ve said that before.” Itadori’s hand covers Megumi’s, and the shaking subsides. “But you kissed me back, so what does that make you? Reckless?”

“Insane,” Megumi offers, just to hear Itadori laugh. He isn’t expecting the second kiss that follows, but he’s glad for it, anyway.

It’s funny, he thinks, even as he pushes a little closer and sighs into the shape of Itadori’s mouth, that regardless of the church behind him, regardless of the temples he has walked through time and again, regardless of the habits he hasn’t broken of prayers during the new year in exchange for fortune slips that hold no merit to him – despite religion flowing in and around his life, there is no higher power in the universe he believes in as much as he believes in Itadori.

If anyone can defy fate, if anyone can push through to the other side of certain tragedy, it will be Itadori.

Start by saving me, he had said, and this isn’t exactly what Megumi had meant. But his chest is warmer than if he had tipped back some sake, and he certainly feels like he could face down a special grade curse and win right now.

They’re not going to have forever. They may not even have twenty-four hours.

But they have tonight. They have right now.

“You better not die tomorrow,” Megumi warns, just barely breaking away enough to speak.

Dying alone is all but a guarantee for jujutsu sorcerers. One day, one of them is going to leave the other behind, and it’s going to rip the survivor to pieces and scar like a phantom limb. Even without a confession, their feelings have splattered like a hemorrhaging wound onto the staircase between them. No amount of backtracking, of lying, of pushing each other away could mop it up now – they’ve left a stain, and their hands are doomed to always have each other’s blood caked under their fingernails.

“Would be a shitty good luck kiss if I did,” Itadori says before leaning back with a smile as broad as the sky.

Megumi pushes him away with the hand on his cheek, and Itadori’s laugh overtakes the crickets and the wind and the far-off traffic as he pulls himself back into Megumi’s orbit with their fingers tangled together.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itafushi #jjk fic #itafushi fic #this is going up on AO3 as well probably as soon as i think of a title for it #3.2k of pining and longing and denial and - finally - acceptance #I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE AAAAAAA #just take it i cannot keep staring at it #my fic

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cosmiclion · 4 months

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An egg in the process of cracking 🥚

A design of younger Grell from my AU (she's about 20 here). I changed almost everything from her backstory since I first came up with this AU, notes (that I've been working on for months lol) under the cut.

(Also yes, I hid the hands behind the body because I didn't wanna draw them, don't mention it ☠️).

-Born in February 17th, 1863 in England, in this universe she's not a reaper but she's still not human.

-She's a werecat (I explored the concept for the first time in this post and I liked it so much that I ended up using it for my main AU). While werebeasts have a human form they are 100% nonhuman as the curse that turns someone into one fully alters their DNA. Adults are immune to the curse, which means if an adult gets bitten and survives they won't turn. However, cases of teenagers and younger surviving an attack aren't enough to properly determine up until which age a person can be affected. A child can also be born a werebeast as the curse can be passed to a fetus if a pregnant person gets bitten. The latter is Grell's case, as her mother got attacked during pregnancy.

-While she didn’t actually transform until her early teens, she did show feline traits from the beginning, such as a desire to hunt and chase small animals and moving objects, climbing trees or other structures, hiding in narrow spaces, etc.

-A homeschooled and pretty sheltered only child, with dead maternal grandparents, a dead father, an emotionally distant mother who eventually bailed on her and paternal grandparents who loved and spoiled her but didn’t really understand her on a deep level, Grell grew up angry and frustrated. She had always felt that something wasn't quite right with her, and when she slowly started to experiment to try to figure herself out she had no one to turn to. As a teenager she decided to just run away from home and leave everything behind. She knew she was leaving her grandparents to die alone but she didn’t care, she had never genuinely loved them anyway.

-She chose her own name AND surname, the first after a nickname her German grandparents often called her and the latter after a character from a book she liked.

-Struggles a lot with internalized misogyny thanks to a mix of her mother’s neglect and eventual abandonment and her grandparents only talking shit about said mother whenever they mentioned her, which greatly contributed to shape her views on motherhood and womanhood in general. Would love to have a child of her own but deep down that’s just because of her dysphoria, in reality she has very little patience for kids and is probably not the best parent material.

-Went through a phase of compulsive heterosexuality both when she thought she was a man and also after she realized she was a woman. Figuring out her orientation wasn’t any easier than figuring out her gender but she’s probably bi with a slight preference for men and masculinity in general.

-I still haven't come up with a story for what she does after leaving her home and before the main events, I only have some ideas. Like she's young when she goes out into the world, she's passionate and adventurous but also full of pent up anger. Also there's the small issue of her being a beast with a huge prey drive, being a trans girl in the middle of self discovery is harder when you're also learning about and trying to gain control of (or at least cope with) your literal wild side ☠️ I know that werebeasts' main driving force is hunger, and the longer they go without eating the more they revert back to a feral state. I'm tempted to make her go the serial killer route but in this case she doesn't have much control of her actions 🫢

-Her werecat form is based on a maine coon. When she first starts showing signs of therianthropy she doesn’t have much control of it, and transforming and becoming that big and rough looking makes her more dysphoric (even more so because “male” maine coons are bigger). Over time she starts accepting it and, as she discovers how powerful it makes her and all the things she can do with it and gains control of it, she fully embraces it as an important part of her.

-The only part of her feline form she cannot hide in human form are the teeth, no matter the form she takes she always has sharp fangs. This is a common trait of all werebeasts, some of them are self conscious about it and avoid smiling or opening their mouth at all while others are proud of it and will take any opportunity to flash their teeth at anyone (guess which one is Grell’s case lmao).

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sketchfanda · 1 year

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Marcy and Rigs:Tales of a vampire queen and her trash boat

(Pictures belongs to @patanu102 who is also the mad man that came up with this insane crossover ship)

So what’s set to follow in this post is a random couple of one shot ficlets or whatever comes to mind as well as headcanons when it comes to the wild crack pairing of rigby from regular show and Marcelino from adventure time. The human versions pic is my main visual,course some chars in this setting will either be like they are in canon or human, it depends on the funny and what not XD. And may on occasion involve rigby with both marcy and Eileen because hey the guy deserves some love and even with this pair focus,I’m still a riflemen guy to my core. So yeah in this case the setting is akin to regular show canon; seemingly regular world where insane,random wild shit happens be it eldritch abominations showing up because of too many ties in a game of rock,paper scissors or future washed up rock stars coming back in time to kill you because you somehow stole their fame in the future. It just also happens to include anthropomorphic candies and other weird creatures up and to including our resident demon vampire queen.

So background wise marcy is much the same as canon,used to be a regular kid who just so happened to be the spawn of the satanstic archetype eldritch horror Hudson abedeer who at one point became a vampire of course. She’s got some issues of course especially what with a certain ex of hers but she’s still got some friends that make life a bit easier for her to handle. Such as an antiques dealer by the name of Simon (don’t ask him about that crown he’s got kept under heavy lock and key or the voices Yiu might hear from it about the secrets of ice and snow,DO NOT ignore the signs Especislly the one that says “In the name of all thst is holy,do not touch this crown!”) and a godfather in skips (he’s been around a long time,and yeah him and a few others in the mystic immortals circle aren’t too fond of Hudson). Skips is one of the few adults she would genuinely admire and respect and the closest thing she has to a moral compass of course,and he’s she regularly rocks out with death and she’s nine too fond of his demonic little infant brat Thomas.

So of course it’d be Somethingmoike an open mic night or talent show at the coffee house one evening mordo and rigs in the crowd. And up steps marcy and her scream queens rocking the house with a couple of tunes and rigby is getting a major case of love at first sight bad,like in wayne’s world when the titular char first lays eyes on Cassandra,who also happened to be a kickass cool bass player. Coincidence? I think not,but of course rigby has the dignity and decency to not devolve into a simp,especially on mordecai’s level,that’s for sure!! it’s pretty much like of course they meet up and talk after the show,and before mordo knows it,the duo is a trio as marcy and rigby get along pretty well and share some similar tastes and interests. and like in canon before anyone notices or realises it,they’re dating!! with eileen too because that delightful quirky nerd is the balance to those 2 slackers!! oh sure rigby would love to rub it in mordecai’s face but eileen is the good conscience in this case...marcy though? she’s merciless. it’s a natural fact that from day 1,she’s ruthless when it comes to snarking and making snide remarks at mordo. the guy’s low hanging fruit just ripe for picking out for mockery.

Now regular show being how and what it is,where something seemingly mundane can spiral out of control into mayhem involving space,time and tussling eith secret blonde cults and a giant coffee bean,one such incident being mordo calls Hudson from the nightosphere because of course thst damn simp would think marcy’s got commitment issues due to unresolved matters involving her dad. Only to realise too late Hudson is a soul sucking demon and his obtuse pushy nature in trying to get marcy to take over as his successor as ruler of the nightospehere. Marcy of course is livid to a point she goes full monster and is about ready to unleash the freakin’ apocalypse. Good thing rigby manages to intervene. Never underestimate a determined hamboning slacker raccoon who managed to graduate and get his highschool diploma boys and girls. And that’s a mark on marcy’s blacklist for mordo,among many he’s sure to rack up. Marcy:hey,okay punchies for it? mordo:tch,sure fine,can’t be any worse than rigby Marcy:*bulks uo hr arm muscles to Amazon preportions,windsup* Mordo:wait a-!!!*too late,pow!! Sent flying so hard he leaves a dent impression on the wall* rigby:ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh!!

Rigby:oooh Uhm…listen I’m kind of a grower….*ziiiiiiiiiip,thud!!* marcy:……get on the bed And of course rigby woild be lying if he said he didn’t find marcy’s monster forms ultra hot..and yes they’d be very active and wild in the bedroom. Mordo still wonders why his bedsheets keep seeming all soaked up. He will never know,ever!! Highfives:Yiu uuuh..got some bug bites on your neck Eileen:eep!*she knew she should’ve told marcy to tone it down with the love bites!!* muscle man:huh,so does rigby..l Rigby:*gives marcy a deadpan look* Marcy:*blep* So yeah possibilities abound with the insanity here.

#regular show #adventure time #marceline #marcy #marceline the vampire queen #rigby regular show #rigby #patanu #patanu102 #crossover #crossship #sketchfan #sketchfanda

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penvisions · 1 year

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the melting point {chapter 3}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Baker! Reader (ex EMT! Reader)

Summary: Your triggers have successfully complicated your life, once again. Something you had hoped would be easier to deal with upon moving. You try to pick up the pieces after the fact.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: breach of professionalism on benny’s part, flirting, mentions of past depression, description of reader to establish future plot points, soft touches that ignite the soul

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

“Hello?”

“Um, yes. Hi, hello. I have this number down as the emergency contact for…” Benny scrambled to search your gym profile for your last name and paired it with your first.

“Is she okay?” The man’s voice on the other side of the line was rushed, worry flooding through the receiver of the gym phone.

“I’m not entirely sure, I’m the owner of Brass Knuckles, it’s gym here in Florida. She’s been a daily visitor for the last 6 months, same time every day. But it’s been a week since she’s been in.”

“Benny? Ben Miller?” The voice seemed to breath a sigh of relief. “I thought this was going to be a call from a hospital…”

“She’s more than just a patron, sir. I’ve been on good speaking terms with her and she always brings us stuff from the bakery, we just,” Now it was Benny’s turn to sigh. “We just want to know that she’s okay, she was supposed to meet us for drinks this past Friday but never showed up, even after an ‘on my way’ message.”

“Last Friday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This time of year is tough for her, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up with my kid, I would’ve flown out to be with her. She…probably wouldn’t want me to tell you what’s going on, but you seem genuine enough and she’s told me about you and your friends in passing.”

“Tough time of year?”

“She’s a retired EMT, Benny.”

“Oh. Oh! Oh no.” Benny may be a little naïve sometimes when it came to social cues but he knew that you were too young to have retired from something that took years and schooling to get accomplished such as EMT, medical work. “Say no more, really, if she wants to share the details with us, then we’ll wait until she’s ready.”

“You’re a good man, Benny. She’s gushed about you before, says you’re always nice to her and that even though she declines, you always make her offers to hang out and even if she doesn’t say it, she really does appreciate it. It’s…just hard for her to be around people and out in crowds sometimes.”

“Has she at least opened the bakery within the last week?”

“No, sir, she hasn’t. It’s been dark since I checked on her after the weekend. I’ve rerouted my way home to check everyday since.”

“Shit, okay. She’s been responding fine, short but fine. Let me see if I can rearrange some stuff and get out there.”

“I can also reach out in a more concrete way, if you think it will help. My friends and I…we’re retired military. So we get the whole overwhelmed with a past life thing. I’ve been debating calling her or the shop, but didn’t want to breach professionally anymore than I already had, this was, I’m very sorry but a breach enough in itself.”

“No, no. I really do appreciate you reaching out, she’s a good girl, she just gets lost in her head sometimes and shuts down. I think that’s why she moved, to try and get a better handle on it. Get some space from the things around town that triggered her.”

“Okay, I totally understand. Do you think flowers would be over the line, the guys and I want her to know that we’re here for her and we aren’t mad.”

“I think flowers would be perfect, she loves chrysanthemums.”

“I’ll order some and let the guys sign the card, I’ll drop them off tonight after I close up.”

“Thank you, really. You’re a good friend, she needs those.”

Frankie had no idea how he ended up parking along the street in front of your bakery with a vase of beautiful white flowers. He had gotten the text of Benny’s plan in the group chat. Explaining briefly that he had reached out to your emergency contact and had come to find out you were just as damaged as the rest of them. Everyone was quick to agree to the flower idea, everyone showing up around close with the intent to sign the card for you. Living the closest to you, Frankie had been volunteered to be the delivery boy. He hadn’t argued but he did feel out of place. He didn’t even know you as much as the others, but he wanted to…

He had been so worried his added presence had turned you off from the bar that night last week. He wasn’t happy with the real reason but he was grateful he wasn’t the cause of your trepidation. Sighing, Frankie glanced at the card one more time, he hadn’t figured out what little blurb to say and had just opted to sign his name with a smiley face. It looked a little funny but it was cute, he thought.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, someone was walking about in the bakery behind the counter, the lights having been flickered on. With a nervous huff, Frankie carefully picked up the vase and got out of his truck. He knocked on the front door, the closed sign in his face making him feel like a fool, but he had seen you inside, he was sure of it. The slight smell of something sweet decorated the air.

He watched as your head popped up from where you must’ve been crouched behind the counter, your brows knit together in confusion. Then a blush when your eyes met his own through the glass. You stood, running your hands down the black apron that was over a simple outfit of black jeans and a dark heather gray ribbed tank top, the cut of it showing the tattoos that decorated your arms. He had been so distracted by your expression last time that he hadn’t noticed them. He took in the plants you had on each shoulder / collarbone, symmetrical in their placement and design. Others made up loose sleeves on your arms, some bare patches making him wonder what you were going to fill them up with.

You walked slowly to the door, a small hesitant wave letting him know you recognized him. You reached up to tighten the bun that piled all your hair atop your head before reached to unlock the door.

“Well, hi there.” Your voice was quiet, but you didn’t run away from him so he felt a little like he was floating on air.

“Hi.” He cleared his throat as he inclined his head in a silent question. When you stepped aside, he walked over the threshold and into the shop. He heard you click the lock back into place as he looked around. You had one large display case by the register at the back of the space, two shelving units off to the right from the door with jars and other things he couldn’t make out. There were three small, but comfy tables on the left and a squishy leather couch with a coffee table facing the shelving.

“We uh, wanted to let you know we were thinkin’ of you. We got you flowers. Taylor said they were your favorite?” Frankie held out the vase to you when he turned back around from his exploration of the space. Your eyes held a caution he was all too familiar with.

“He told me Benny called him, said to not mess up the chance at making some good friends down here.”

You reached out for the vase, your fingers brushing Frankie’s and you both felt the tingles of contact. You closed your eyes as you brought them up to sniff. The motion allowed Frankie to see the dark circles under your eyes, the way your freckles were darker on your muted skin, you didn’t look like you had been outside since he last saw you. He felt heat rise up his face as he watched the same rise up yours, a shy smile gracing your features.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Me? Oh, um…” Frankie thought of how his mom was watching over his daughter, it was summer so she was out of school and had been scooped up from daycare a few hours ago. The drive wasn’t too far, on the other side of town, which he had reminded the guys of when he had been volunteered to come here on his way. But now he didn’t regret the task at all, your presence was calming even if he was the one who was supposed to be offering support right now. “Let me make a call real quick?”

“Oh, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so forward, we barely know each other…” You broke away from his gaze, looking down at the ground and then toward the back of the shop.

“I don’t mind!” He rushed to say, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. He was sure what he said next would break the spell regardless. Women were always thrown off by the single dad revelation, he was sure this wouldn’t be any different. “I just have to check in with my mom, she’s watching my daughter for me.”

“Oh! Don’t let me steal you away from that. I didn’t have anything in mind, just…wanted to see if you were interested in helping with the batch of cookies I just started. But it’s totally okay, I get it, kids are the priority and I didn’t realize you were already spoken for.” You hastily walked away from him, going to the register counter and setting the vase down. You wouldn’t look at him. You were so embarrassed, of course Frankie had a wife and a kid. Off limits, with a family he had to get home to.

“No, wait. No. I’m not married. Lex’s mother took off on us a few years after she was born.” He followed you and placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder. Your skin was so soft underneath his fingers, the tattoos begging to be traced and explored. “Just give me a second and I’ll be right back.”

“Take the room, no need to go back out in the heat. I’ll be in the kitchen.” You picked the vase back up and with another shy smile you disappeared behind swinging door that led to the back of the space behind the counter.

After a quick call asking if everyone was alright and if it would be okay for him to come fetch Lex after dinner and bath time. His mother had insisted that Lex stay the night if he had plans, something he seldom had. She bid him a good time with a smile in her voice and a promise to send a goodnight video once bath time was over. Frankie took a second to collect himself, he glanced down at his dirty clothing, self-conscious of the oil and grime that stained him. He had gone straight to Brass Knuckles after his shift at the mechanic shop he worked part time at. He wished he could take a shower and look nicer for you.

He felt all of his troubles melt away when he pushed the swinging door to enter the kitchen, the sight of you rolling out a large sheet of what looked like sugar cookie dough on a floured counter surface. Your arms were toned, he noted, the muscles moving with practiced ease as you rolled it out to the thinness you wanted. When you looked up, a small smile on your face he felt his heart thump loudly in his chest.

“Alright, you’ve officially stolen me.” He tossed you a playful wink, loving the way your cheeks flushed at his boldness. “What would you like me to do?”

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ohallthecrushes · 2 years

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If you think im flirting with you then... i won't say im not

A/N: Do you think that Peter would know how to flirt? I think he would try to use his imagination and whatever he knows about flirting to pick you up. It would be more like manipulative flirting than anything, still genuine though, and I think he would kill it anyway.

Summary: the first time Peter try to flirt with you.

Warnings: Mentioned of blood, just a tiny bit.

Wordscount: 1181

Walking through long corridors of Hawking's lab became your daily routine since you started working here. You couldn't count how many times you lost your way here or how many steps you had to make everyday going from one room to another.

Of course you'd rather go for a walk in nature than having to spend hours on end in those corridors, but your life had turned around unexpectedly and there's nothing you could do about it.

At your first days here, it was almost impossible to find your way anywhere. Yes, you saw signs and tried to remember which turn to take, but you still found yourself in a wrong corridor.

"It's the new environments that make you so confused" - a tall blond man said to you - "Don't worry, it gets easier with time. I used to got lost in those white corridors too."

His name was Peter and he was the only person that was ever nice to you. Others either ignored you or talked behind your back thinking you didn't know.

"You think so? I feel like there's infinite numbers of them and they're designed to get lost in them. Like a big maze."

Peter looked at you and laughed. It was the softest laugh you'd ever heard.

"It was my first impression too. Then I learnt how to navigate myself here."

"And how long have you been here for?"

His eyes drifted away from you. "Long enough." A short answer with a low distant voice. You wish you knew why he sounded so sad. There wasn't much about his past that he told you and honestly you didn't know if it was ok to ask. So far you only talked to each other between your daily duties as orderlies and walks around the lab. You felt connection to him from the very beginning and started to think about him in a more romantic way, but you couldn't tell if he was interested in you or not. He was nice and helpful to everyone after all, not only to you. It was a part of his charm. This and his eyes that you get lost in as often as in those corridors.

You remember that on your first day here, you were so nervous that you accidentally dropped your cup that broke into pieces under your feet. You quickly crouched down to pick them up, but cut your finger with a sharper one. A few drops of blood landed on a floor and you sighed at your own clumsiness.

"Hey, may I see it?" Peter crouched next to you and gently took your hand in his, his bright eyes examined your finger. "Luckily it's not deep, you won't need any stiches." He looked at you. "Let me help you patch this up."

It was the first time he talked to you and the first time you got lost in his beautiful eyes. Something struck you at that moment with a gentle but intense force and you blushed like never before. But you'd be damned if you told him how he made you feel.

You couldn't lie to yourself though, the more you get to know him the more you liked him. He appeared to be sweet and gentle. You liked his confidence and caring nature. Patient and understanding, he never raised his voice on anyone. Always spoke in whispers, using his husky low voice, even when there were only two of you in a room. And when you were talking, his whole attention was only on you. He created this intimate moments between you without forcing it or making it feel unnatural. And he always left you wanting more.

One time you saw him when you were going to the rainbow room. You caught up with him and showed him what you'd found.

"Look, Peter!" - you said stretching out your hand. It held a small teddy bear with one eye and a tiny hat.

"Isn't it the same plushie that Seven has lost?" - Peter asked with a curious tone.

"Yes! i found it this morning. Can't wait to give it back to him. He'd be so happy to see his friend back." - you smiled to yourself.

"You really care about those kids, Y/N." - he noticed and smiled at you - "They're lucky to have you."

"Thank you, I'm just trying to give them as much happiness as they deserve. Those kids don't have any families or a normal life. It's hard for them to be here. Poor souls..."

Peter hummed as the look in his eyes turned darker and less understanding. You accidentally touched a nerve he didn't recognize in himself. A burning, aching sensation in his heart. A jealousy.

He quickly brushed it off before you noticed anything. He opened a door for you and when you looked at him, he sent you one one of his sympathetic, sweet smile.

"You're an angel, you know that?" - he said before you entered the rainbow room.

You often thought if he was flirting with you sometimes. He seemed to enjoy making you blush as far as you could tell. At this point he knew what kind of affection he had on you. Would he ever go any further? You also wondered if you should gather your strength and ask him whether he liked you too. If you started flirting with him, would he mind?

Your head was full of unanswered questions and unapologetic imagines. After thinking about what you hope was possible, you felt thrilled and upbeat. You quietly sang your favorite song as you were walking down the hallway, heading to a canteen. You didn't notice Peter going the opposite way. Only when he was near to you, you lifted your eyes from the medical papers you were holding.

"Oh, Peter...Hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks... You looked beamed today, Y/N" - he slightly tilted his head - "Has something good happened?"

"No, not yet, I think? But I hope it will." - you awkwardly explained.

"Hmm... Positive set of mind. That's a good way to start your day."

"It is..."

There was a small pause before Peter spoke again.

"You have a lovely voice..."

Your eyes opened wider, you didn't think he had heard you.

"T-thank you." - you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear - "But it's just ok..."

"Just ok?" - he questioned looking into your eyes - "No, your voice is as lovely as everything else about you. Which doesn't surprise me at all, cause I already know you're an angel."

"Please, Peter..." - your voice got a bit of a pitchy tone, you couldn't hide how elated you felt right now. - "Keep talking like that and i'll think you're flirting with me."

"I'm afraid, i dont know how to flirt..." - he confessed, it was a first time when you saw him blushing a little too - "But if you think im flirting with you then…" - he continued as he leaned closer to you smiling - "I won't say im not."

#peter ballard #henry creel #stranger things #peter ballard x reader #stranger things x reader #001

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terresdebrume · 5 months

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11, 18, and 19, any ship with Lieb please!

[From Ship Ask Game: The Basics]

Hi, and thank you for the ask! Sorry for the delay, I had to drive to my vacation place and I quite forgot about this ask in favor of the swimming pool^^" I'm going to do this with Webgott, which will probably surprise no one who's been on this blog for the past couple weeks :P

11. How do they feel about nicknames/pet names? If they like them, what pet names do they use? If they hate them, why do they feel that way?

So I don't think David grew up with pet names. I tend to imagine his family as more formal & conservative, which is why it suits him fine that Lieb isn't terribly big on them either. (He does call Lieb Liebling or occasionally Liebe though, because it's a connection to the second language they share and also it's such an easy connection to make that Joe rolls his eyes every time.) But then one day Lieb calls him some kind of pet name, most likely in bed, and it turns out David actually really likes them, especially from Lieb. Lieb thinks it's a kink thing and there's a bit of that, but mostly it's the connection and intimacy that comes with it which David can't get enough of.

Meanwhile, Joe (who did very much grow up in a pet names, or at least fond nicknames family) makes fun of David every time he calls him any variation of Liebe but also privately loves it and definitely feels the sting when they have a spat and David only calls him Joe/Lieb. The reason he doesn't use pet names for David at first is because he's trying to safeguard himself (like, even in a modern AU: David is 7 years younger and much richer and they don't exactly start in the smoothest way so it seems safer to expect something to go wrong) Until the fateful day when he calls David something like 'sweetheart' or 'princess'...and having the excuse of it being a kink thing (I imagine Joe sticks with pet names in the same vein time for a long while before he abandons the pretense of kink) makes it easier for him to get more secure in the lasting power an their relationship and get more casual but also more creative (because using unusual names like 'little shark' makes David snort but also it's easier to be goofy than it is to be sincere) I don't know if he'd move to more classical nicknames after that. I think it could go either way tbh.

Also, I think they would both be the type to also make a note of the nicknames the other genuinely dislikes (but doesn't really hate) so that they can use them when they want to be a little shit.

18. How do they care for each other when one of them is wounded/sick?

Joe immediately goes into caretaker mode. He makes soup, cuddles, fusses with the blankets, and only starts being sarcastic about it once David is on the mend from whatever it was, however minor.

Because of the background I imagine for David in terms of reaction to illness, I think he'd be a lot more indirect about it. He badgers Joe into going to see the doctor (Yes, it's worth spending the money), rereads their insurance policies and orders the meds from the pharmacy. He makes sure to be quiet and does what he can to keep the household running while Joe's incapacitated (it does involve ordering some chicken soup).

I figure the first time either of them gets sick is a rocky step in their relationship, especially if it happens early on, because David doesn't know how to be vaguely courteous when he's sick (like when he has a headache, he has to make a conscious effort not to be an ass if Joe makes too much noise while making him something to eat, for example) and Joe doesn't immediately realize David isn't actually indifferent (he's just used to someone's absence being the sign they're trying to be considerate) but once they figure things out they learn to acomodate each other: David does the insurances papers with Joe's head on his lap, and Joe keeps his chatter quieter than usual.

And then they realize they both love it when the other reads to them and it's pretty much smooth sailing from there.

19. Do they wear each other’s clothes/jewelry?

I think one of David's greatest tragedies is that if he tries to wear Joe's stuff he stretches it out and makes it unwearable, which means he can't just steal stuff from Joe's wardrobe whenever he wants.

On the other hand, Joe doesn't feel comfortable enough in David's style of clothing to steal anything from him except the ratty old Harvard sweatshirt that David keeps pointing out is full of holes and stains, because the cat climbs on it and Joe wears the damn thing every time he does any kind of DIY in the colder months.

Joe usually has a bunch of projects going on in December, right before David goes to visit his parents for the holidays, at which point the sweatshirt mysteriously disappears until the next time David starts a load of laundry.

#almost a class act #Assbox adventures #Assbox Games #Band of Brothers #David Webster #Joe Liebgott #Webgott #I can have more than one ship in a fandom #But I rarely ship a character in multiple different relationships #I can read it no issues #I just don't generally go for it myself #So except on request you're most likely not going to see Joe x Anyone but Webster on this blog

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inverse-problem · 5 months

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alright layer 7 first day impressions! (played each layer twice more or less so not first impressions but still I just need to get my thoughts out. do not expect anything good, I'm just stream-of-consciousness rambling.) major detailed spoilers under the cut!

7-1: oooh love the blood painting with violence aesthetic, it turned out so well. mannequins are really fun! bit confusing to navigate but I think that was sort of the point, given the layer name. loved the lore in the book

and then the minotaur. (nice house of leaves reference!) took me a while because I was out of practice and I fell off the platforms a lot but ough great lore, there. love that we got more details about minos, as tragic as it was. and the phase 2 at the end of the level genuinely startled me! anyway whoa, really strong start to a layer

7-2: cool to start with the gutterman right off the bat; finally, I am forced to learn to switch fists. really liked the gutterman design and lore, and the guttertanks were a nice surprise, also. the timing whiplash things were a bit tricky, because I suck at platforming, but I got the hang of them faster than I expected. I died a lot in the room with the stalker. the whole war aesthetic with the warheads and the sort of industrial aesthetic was really good, and I thought the bomb was a great addition. also seeing the earthmovers in the distance and bullets flying across the sky, very intense aesthetic, very fitting. also, cool level design, I the part where walls fall down in front of you! very cool! just got a bit confused about navigation in some places but it was intuitive enough, and easier to find my way around than 7-1

7-3: holy shit the beginning made me really emotional. the trees were so poignant, and they look beautiful also. interesting way to do a key hunt sort of thing, too. the little gates were a nice aesthetic touch, also. seeing the demons and the war machines fight was really interesting (and also made the fights easier when I was starting to get physically tired, haha). great use of the dual wield powerup also. fantastic ambiance overall, very evocative. the tree imagery and accompanying music is stuck in my mind

7-4: I love it when a boss is also the level! good shit! the platforming here was fun for me, which is cool, because I'm not always big on it. really solid industrial aesthetic throughout the level. loved all the greebling and the signs and stuff; curious to know what the japanese text on the signs translates to. was a bit unsure where to aim during the security system fight, but thankfully marksman revolver helped me figure it out. the rising deadly liquid freaked me out at first because I hate timing challenges, but thankfully that didn't end up being an issue at all. loved the level layout overall, really got the impression I was clambering into a giant war machine, which was a blast. the heart boss itself was so-so for me because I'm not a big fan of spinny arena-spanning things like that, but the healing opportunities with the idols were nice, and parrying the projectiles really helped me a lot! the timer at the end was also a bit nerve-wracking but gave me ample time, and it was extremely worth it to jump out of a giant exploding war engine. felt really badass. and the lore implications are fascinating, I need to think a bunch because whoa. the fact that humanity just lived on those for a while is very interesting

overall thoughts: bit of a difficulty jump, but once I got used to things again, the difficulty was at a good level, to me. and these levels were really fun and interesting! I need to actually find the secrets and secret encounter etc (only found one by accident so far in 7-1), but I'll leave that for later. holy shit, I'm so happy, though, what a great new set of levels!

#inverse problem.txt #I don't mean to spam the ultrakill spoilers tag I just want to tag spoilers and I have so many thoughts lmao so don't mind me #but anyway okay I think I've gotten it out of my system for now #ultrakill spoilers

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your-thorn · 9 months

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[On Kidnapping and Its Application] {My Speculation and Opinion} Trigger warning for everything. For the yandere community. Block, don't report. Have a good day.

Chapter 2

Last chapter we discussed preparation in a half-hazardous way including aftercare, basic psychology, and some common sense. Here we will highlight one of these topics, and it will be common sense.

Common sense includes the various spectrum of knowledge allowed to everyone or known to a great many people, but can we really call this kind of knowledge common?

Firstly I'll discuss the obvious; employment for us can be spotty or spacey, this is to be expected. To find a job and stick with it can be the most draining thing, but is important to keeping your victim, especially if they are too disabled to keep a job or if you want them to stay at home.

I've heard of some companies using an AI to hire their employees and that there's a way around it (according to reddit, take this with a pinch of salt) by putting that they went to a big university of college (Harvard, Yale, whatever) but then made those words transparent so people can't see it, but the AI can.

Or the old method that companies use as well; lying. (Immediate termination is often the consequence as well as sometimes being blacklisted.)

Or just get a regular job. Your victim will likely not be working (unless you've already had communications with your victim and they have employment, then income won't be too much of an issue.) Even a minimum wage job would be better than nothing.

Make sure they live alone. If they live with their family/significant other then assume people are on alert, even when asleep. Assume every house has a self defense bat, mine does, so I assume every home has one or an equivalent. BE AWARE THAT PEOPLE DO CARRY BLADES/GUNS.

Transportation; a car or motor vehicle is often used. A quiet car would be best, if you don't have one then park your car some distance away before approaching the residence. Make sure you have a plan for getting your victim onto/into your vehicle without too much fussing about.

{Requested ADDITION EDIT OF SEPTEMBER 22 2023/ NOVEMBER 21 2023

How to keep your location a secret? In this day and age your location can be tracked just about anywhere, I have no cure all but I think turning off your phone's location at home is a good bet (because then your last recorded location was at your residence), learning the parts of the phone so you can just pop it out, or just leave it at home. Seriously, just leave it at home or get a burner, I don't know how this works or else I'd give better advise. (Sorry to those who think I'm a guru on this)

If you're stalking then do yourself a favor and look vague; hoodie, sunglasses, a hat, keep your distance. If you must listen in on the target's conversations then get one of those apps for amplifying noise. If you can insert yourself somewhere in your target's life, then do so, it will be easier to gain their trust this way (clubs or online communities are a good way, even if you aren't good at what's being done its better to try than to have never even had the possibility at all)}

[credit to...♡ @lonedarling ♡ for the suggestions]

Check for a security sign in front of the home, the sign will give you the company name, the company has a website, the website will give you information on how they rig the house (or a phone number to call and ask questions as a "potential buyer") granted, some areas (or countries) just don't have these. Use your common sense.

If no security sign is present, then assume these people will sleep lightly, tread with caution and make sure to take your shoes off to avoid excessive noises.

Distribute your weight evenly if they have genuine wood floors as that might create less noise.

!->First time you see the house is time for reconnaissance.<-!

Slip in a few times and get used to their home, walk around and get a feel for the place. Look at the brands they use, their trash, their medication... it is all useful cause then you can look online for the specific stores that carry those products.

!->People will often use a single store for their shopping needs.<-!

If their phone is just lying about... try to unlock it. If you've been paying attention then you have their password.

I purposely left out actually kidnapping them. That should be done in your way, using your mind, but I can add a tip or two if people request it... I won't let you guys flounder if I have a solution...

Now you all have some very useful knowledge... Next I shall discuss the psychology of your typical victim in more detail.

Fin of chapter 2

Author's note: you guys may have more info to add here, please do. I love you guys and I hope you guys have a good day. I'll make the next chapter soon.

#♠︎thorn's resources♠︎#tw kidnapping #tw kidnap mention #yandere girl #irl yandere #actually yandere #irl darling #yandere thoughts #actually obsessive #yandere blog #yandere #yandere community

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scribe-cas · 10 months

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hi!! happy (almost late) storytelling saturday!! tell me, what is it about your favorite oc that makes them your favorite?

i usually add here that you can talk about more than one if you can't choose a favorite, but i feel like here i should probably add feel free to use second favorite if you feel you've run out of explanations for why couteau's your beloved baby. alternatively, feel absolutely free to repeat yourself if you wanna, i will listen

HAPPY STORY TELLING SATURDAY (don’t worry it will be STS for me for another like,,, at least 7 hours)

That note shot me in the face seven times /pos and I laughed my ass off so thank you for that

“If you feel you’ve run out of explanations for why Couteau’s your beloved baby”

Oh my dear

Beloved morbo

You have only heard the tip of the iceberg

Let’s see

We’ve covered his shitty sense of humor (he is full of banter and i love him for that), his basic personality, his tendency to murder abusive men (massive plus in my opinion) and a little bit of his hyperempathy-

Okay so tbh. I will dive in to the deep stuff with you.

The reason Couteau is my precious little blorbo is because of what he represents.

He’s just a guy. And I love that he’s just. A character. Like he is so much all the time, and it makes me proud to have fleshed him out like a person.

Like, genuinely. He gets up and eats breakfast and he has a best friend who’s name is Gambit. They’re roommates.

He’s touch sensitive on his back. He likes hugging people from behind.

When he’s being vulnerable, he’ll come up and put his head on your shoulder because his parental figure used to own a cane, making her shorter than him, even while he was alive, and it was easier than hugging her.

He likes strawberry milkshakes.

He can dance. He’s an old man and his muscles hurt but he still plays Just Dance when Gambit takes out the gaming console.

He used to be in the circus.

He died at 15 and is only learning now that sometimes it’s okay to go back to that screaming little girl who couldn’t take the pressure of life and murmur “it’s okay. You did your best.”

He’s autistic and temporarily nonverbal. He speaks sign language.

He likes cold temperatures but warm blankets.

He only does hand to hand combat.

He sells milkshakes.

He’s trans.

He can do a backflip but his spine would snap and crackle.

He copes with panic attacks by laying down on his bathroom floor, a heater whirring, blowing directly on his back.

He leaves red roses behind with every body that he’s killed by accident.

He knows no amount of kindness will bring a person back, but treats each corpse with a quiet kind of respect.

He has long hair because that was the hair the first person he fell in love with had, and he’s got a scar on the side of his head.

He hates himself.

He finds a quiet comfortability in being a villain.

If you tell him he’s beautiful with your heart, he’ll have to fight not to cry.

He spat in God’s face for the person he cared about so much that he changed their fate.

He loves astrology.

Like how am I supposed to exist and not love a person like this.

He’s made to represent those of us who gave up our lives to the people we loved and never got payed back for it.

Someone wronged by the abuse of the world but who has chosen to let the abuse fester because he never stopped and realized he is abusing himself.

And in doing so, is tearing apart others.

He has hurt and been hurt and has turned to rage because if you are a monster, then nothing can hurt you worse than you can hurt yourself.

He tore himself apart in life giving, and is now forced to tear apart others in death.

He sees it as a punishment

But he chose it for himself.

God is simply trying to teach him how to take.

Giving is framed as a noble attribute. And it is.

But not when you have to tear yourself apart for it.

You owe what you can give. Nothing more.

You do not have to kill yourself to bring more to the table.

You are allowed to care for yourself.

It is not an act of selfishness, but self preservation.

He is meant to represent those of us who have fallen from the sky and are slowly growing and learning not to mistreat ourselves so that we will not mistreat the world.

The first book is a horror. A romance, but a twisted one.

Couteau’s story is one of self hatred.

And hopefully, by the end of it

It will become one of self love.

Hope this helps. <3

#couteau my beloved go back into your box #coutalk #bists #blood is sweeter than silence

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funnier-as-a-system · 1 year

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do you take asks asking for like. advice?? and if so um. how do you know? just in general but also how do you know that its not all some like. elaborate act that youre putting on to feel special? aside from just "if you feel bad about the possibility of faking you arent faking" because for all you know my guilt is faked too. if you dont accept requests for advice im sorry to have exposed you to this i just genuinely dont know who to ask

We do indeed take asks for advice! We're just really bad at answering them in timely manner, eheh.

I must admit I'm a little confused, because you seem to switch between the possibility of me being wrong about plurality and me being wrong about your plurality, but I shall answer both! (No offense taken to either question, if that was a concern.)

When we first discovered our system, we had a lot of the same fears; probably our biggest one was that we were just making up conversations in our head. It wasn't so much that we feared we were faking as we were worried about being wrong, so we get where you're coming from with usual "you're not faking" sentiments not helping. So what did we do?

We made what we call a proof book!

It doesn't have to be an actual book. A proof book is simply a record, mental, physical, or digital, of signs and symptoms that support your hypothesis of being a system (or, tbh, anything else you're questioning). While all the internal communication/hearing voices signs were dismissible as our imagination, we could not so easily dismiss evidence* such as not feeling in control of our body (depersonalization), uncontrollable accents, or the people around us noticing changes in our personality. Whenever we started doubting ourselves, we'd ask if the doubts had any good arguments, and, if so, we'd compare the arguments to what was written in our proof book. After all, people don't really talk about it, but sometimes the doubts have a point! It's not so easy to dismiss doubts that have a point – but at the same time, it's hard for doubts to adapt their argument against one piece of evidence to a book of evidence.

*now that we think about it, the name "evidence book" might have been better, but that doesn't roll off the tongue as easily.

We still have doubts, occasionally. But between the proof book growing as we do and our lived experience where living as a system has been better for us than living as a singlet with system suspicions, it's a lot easier to combat those fears.

If you're questioning being a system but have some doubts, you can also make a proof book! And in the end, if you find out it's all better evidence for something else that's not plurality, then hey! Look at you, already ready with a proof book to smash any doubts you have about that thing fitting you.

As for the people who come to us in asks, you're right that we can't tell for certain. But tbh, us knowing for certain the details of other people's lives isn't a concern. We're a mentally ill adult with worries like "what jobs are available in our area" and "what if I'm secretly a horrible person"; we don't really like to spend too much time worrying about doubting other people. Believing people at their word about something that doesn't really affect our life too much... it kind of just helps with the whole "leading a happy and healthy life" goal we have, y'know? Rather than scour asks looking for any sign of bad intentions, getting ourselves worked up, and possibly setting off a chain reaction of discourse and offense if we see faking where there isn't any, we just answer an ask and go on with our day. If someone who sends in an ask is faking, that's not our problem. If someone who sends in an ask ends up being wrong about their plurality, that's also not our problem. Our problem is the sheer amount of unanswered asks in our inbox. Of course, we'll do our best to give advice if they come to us looking for it [about their situations], but we're not in the habit of fact checking the lives of our askers. Just brings us down and makes us more fearful and untrusting of other people.

All that really matters is if we feel we did alright when answering their ask, which we really can't do if we just accuse them as faking. You see, even if one of our askers is faking, one of our followers may have a similar question or real experience close to what they made up, and those people may want to hear our response. In those cases, it's better to show compassion and interest for the sake of your audience, wouldn't you agree? By assuming honesty even when what's being said is strange, we create a better environment on this blog for not just ourselves, and not just our askers, but also the rest of our followers. And that's really all we want! We don't like suspecting people and people don't like being suspected – by trusting people on their problems and experiences, even if they sound strange or "faked", we're being kind. (Or at least, we're being open-minded, which is something we strive to achieve.) And kindness is often passed on, even if not by the person receiving it; if we take people by their word, no matter how strange, we inspire others to do the same, which amounts to a more accepting community. Which, personally, I think is much better than a community that accuses others of faking on a whim.

—

This has been rather long, so let's sum it up.

We combatted our fears by creating a record of evidence to support the theory that we're a system.

Never thought I'd say this line that's beginning to sound cliché on the internet, but we have bigger things to worry about than if any random ask in our inbox is from a faker.

Moreover, trying to figure out if people in our inbox are faking would just take a toll on our mental health. So we don't.

We want to be kind, inspire kindness, and make people happy, and an easy way to do that is to make this blog an accepting place where fakeclaiming is off the table.

If someone "tricks us", oh well, oh darn, fiddlesticks, you got me. You are now on par with our pre-teen sibling sneaking out to go steal mangos. Congratulations.

Well, this was a rather long response, but we hope we've been thorough in answering your query, anon!

#thanks for the ask!

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